Free Olivia, Mourning by Yael Politis

about you. I’d see you in the shop, of course. You were always such a sweet little thing.”
    Olivia suddenly realized that her father’s mistress was as curious about her and her brothers as Olivia was about her.
    Mrs. Place removed the envelope from her pocket and turned it over. “Wondering how much is in here? I suppose you think it’s rightly yours.” She sighed and gave Olivia a tired smile. “Don’t worry. It can’t be much. He always was tightfisted. Never even gave me a present. Not once, all these years. He cost me money, if you want to know the truth. There he was, Old Man Killion, my rich fancy man, with the big house on Maple Street, but all he ever did was come over and grant me the privilege of serving him a meal. At my expense, of course. I did have to borrow from him a few times, but he always let me pay him back.”
    “So why did you … why were you … his friend?” Olivia sank to the bed, shocked by the audacity of her question, but too curious to keep her mouth shut.
    “Oh, I don’t know.” Mrs. Place leaned back. “I suppose because no one else was there – and he was. Let me feel like maybe someone thought about me once in a while.” She suddenly stood up and moved toward the door.
    Olivia was reluctant to let her go. “Did he ever talk to you about my mother?”
    “Nola June, the saint?” Mrs. Place stopped and turned to face Olivia. “Just all the time. She was so frail, so pure, so righteous.” Then, after a pause, she put a hand on Olivia’s shoulder and added softly, “He truly cared for her. Loved her with all his heart.”
    Olivia knew she was supposed to be angry with Mrs. Place. Despise her. But she felt nothing like that. She was too busy being amazed by this woman who broke all the rules. “You’re awfully strong,” Olivia blurted out.
    “Now that’s something you don’t never want to be saying about a woman, not if you like her even one little bit.” Mrs. Place shook her head and smiled sadly at Olivia. “People will forgive just about anything in a man, except being too weak, and the one thing they absolutely cannot forgive in a woman is being too strong.”
    She nodded good-bye to Olivia and stepped into the hall. The voices had drifted to the kitchen at the back of the house and Mrs. Place quietly slipped down the front stairs and let herself out.
    When Olivia and Tobey arrived at the cemetery they followed the path to their parents’ resting place. Seborn’s headstone wasn’t ready yet; a piece of plywood with lettering in black paint marked his grave. Nola June’s was of intricately carved marble.
    Seborn Killion
    July 6, 1794
    January 26, 1841
    Nola June Sessions Killion
    September 26, 1800
    February 3, 1829
    “I was almost six when she died,” Olivia said. “Seems like I ought to be able to remember more about her.”
    She stared at the graves and felt nothing, thinking something must be wrong with her. Nearby were two more headstones. One belonged to her little brother, Jason Lee. He had died of the fever when he was two and Olivia was four. She had no recollection of him at all. The other grave was that of her Uncle Scruggs.
    “It’s so sad that Uncle Scruggs is buried all alone here, while his Lydia Ann lies out there in Michigan. They ought to be together,” she said.
    Tobey said nothing. He clapped his arms around himself and Olivia knew it was his way of saying he was ready to turn around and go home.
    “Remember how Uncle Scruggs always liked to show us the deed to his land, brag about how it was signed by President John Quincy Adams’ own hand?”
    Tobey nodded with obvious disinterest. “Where were you planning on getting green branches to lay on the graves?” he asked.
    Olivia ignored the question. “He was so proud of that wooden floor he put in their cabin, all hand-planed lumber, so smooth you could run your fingers over it and never know there was a trap door to the cellar.”
    “Can we get going?”
    “And he built a